


The World Moves On, But We're Forever

by TeyrianTimelord



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous Character Death, F/M, Fluff, Hydra AU, Post-Civil War, Post-Infinity War, hydra!cap, romanogers week, suicidal thoughts in chapter 5, very mild smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 04:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15964397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeyrianTimelord/pseuds/TeyrianTimelord
Summary: It's Romanogers Week, y'all!-Day 1, "Runaway With Me." Natasha and Steve finally have their heart-to-heart after Civil War to talk about her future.-Day 2, "You Are The Only Think I Think About At Night." Nat is away on a mission and Steve has nothing but his memories to keep him company while she's gone.-Day 3, "Wearing Your Clothes." A torrential rainstorm leaves Natasha with nothing to wear but Steve's pajamas.-Day 4, "Take My Hand." AU where HYDRA take a hold of Steve's mind and Natasha is the last hope.-Day 5, "The World Moves On But We're Forever." Two months after the Battle of Wakanda, everyone is still recovering. Steve and Natasha have to face uncomfortable truths.





	1. Runaway With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be out of the country with no access to AO3 for the next few weeks, so I wanted to upload my Romanogers Week submissions before I leave! Thankfully I'll still have Tumblr mobile, so I can post them on the correct days as they come. This challenge was so much fun. My thanks go out to the community for making it happen!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-Civil War, Pre-Infinity War. Just some awkward fluff.

 

All Natasha has to do is wait. To the untrained eye, or even most competent government agents, she would still be nonexistent, nothing but a ghost of SHIELD and a memory of old tragedy. But not for him. Not now. She knew every trick in the book when it came to going years at a time without being discovered and for several months that's exactly what she had done. After T'Challa reported her to Ross and Tony refused to budge, she didn't have another option. It was a tedious process this time, now that all her old covers were blown in the aftermath of thwarting HYDRA once and for all. She had to change everything she had left, right down to the color of her hair, and constantly move from country to country with a long string of fake passports and new identities. After so much time with Clint and then the Avengers and then Steve, Natasha had almost forgotten just how lonely this life was. Almost. But now it was time for her to finally surface just enough to get his attention. She was ready. All it took was one seemingly "sloppy" glance at a news camera in Rome. So she sits in her hotel room, working on her laptop, and waits.

After 36 hours exactly, Natasha hears a soft knock on the door of her hotel room and smirks. It had taken him a little longer than she expected, and of course he had to be the gentleman. If the tables were turned, she would have simply materialized in his bedroom to stay unseen and keep the risk of attention to an absolutely minimum. But of course he would take that risk to make her feel more comfortable, to let her know that he's coming, to not spook her. Because that's just the way that Captain America operates.

"You took your sweet time," she says bluntly as she opens the door, not even needing to look through the peephole first.

"Even when you make it easy for us, you're still a hard woman to find," Steve answers with equal terseness.

Natasha swallows hard as she takes a moment to really look him up and down. Even through his usual disguise of street clothes and a baseball cap, she could see just how much of a toll the past year had taken. His shoulders, still broad and muscular as ever, sagged with a weight that even he had never carried before. Where once he was militantly clean cut and shaven was now hidden behind an unoiled beard and hair long enough to knot, which did nothing but highlight the weariness pulling down the darkened skin under his eyes. The dimensions of his body had changed very little, and yet somehow he seemed leaner and gaunter than before; the figure of a man who no longer trained in a state of the arts gym but labored in a troubled world. But despite all the changes to his body, Natasha knows in her heart that this is still the Steve Rogers she trusts with her life. All the suffering in the world was not capable of breaking his spirit. She sees it in his weary eyes. She takes a step to the side and gestures for him to join her inside. A piece of her wants nothing more than to jump into his arms and bury her face in his chest, to confess how much she's missed him and how much time she spent thinking about him. But this was not the time. Not when their last exchange was in a German airport at the height of their treason.

"Where's Sam and Wanda?" she asks, taking a seat on the rickety bed while Steve leans on the small coffee table posing as a desk.

"Wakanda, for now," he replies. "We'll be meeting up with them in Paris in a few days to chase a lead on some arms dealers who stole Chitauri weaponry from a research lab in New York."

Natasha cocks an eyebrow.

"We?"

Even though they are only a few feet apart, the distance between them suddenly feels horribly far, as if they're on separate ends of the world and she can barely hear him shout. She knew when she exposed herself that this is what he would ask, but something about it still sits strangely in her chest. She desperately wants to join the new team, to run away and finally be a family again working against the forces of evil instead of lurking in the shadows and simply surviving. But deep down, she knows she does not deserve it. She should have stood with him since day one. She should have never signed that damn paper. She should have fought by his side and kept her friends from being sent to the Raft. She should have told him how she felt before he got on that plane. She should tell him how she feels now. But she doesn't. She can't. Instead she keeps the stone-faced visage.

"The team needs you, Nat," Steve says with a bit of heart finally seeping into his voice. "You stood up to T'Challa and Tony and Ross and everyone else when it counted most. You belong with us."

Natasha forces a smug smirk, even though all she wants to do is cry.

"I don't belong anywhere, Rogers. Not anymore."

Steve pushes himself upright and Natasha stands to mirror him. In only a few short steps he is so close to her that she can feel his body heat radiating from under his flannel, but not enough to touch. Despite the near foot of height difference between them, he looks directly into her eyes, almost down to her soul. She silently thanks God that she hasn't lost her ability to hold a poker face no polygraph can prove wrong, though it nearly falters when he gently puts a hand on her shoulder. His gaze is strong and unwavering, but also warm. At the end of the day and above all things, they were -are- friends. She's missed him and she can finally see that he misses her too.

"You belong with me," he insists. "We've been through Hell and I know I can keep going, but only if we have you."

He pauses briefly.

"If _I_ have you."

It's suddenly all too much. The pain of watching him and Bucky fly away without her. The guilt of seeing Clint, Wanda, Sam, and Scott locked up for fighting for a worthy cause. The betrayal of Tony leaving her out to dry. And the hard, cold, aching loneliness of the past 12 months. Natasha can't take it anymore and throws her arms around Steve's neck, embracing him tighter than she ever has before, and lets out a deep sigh of relief when she immediately feels him reach for her waist and pull her even closer. She takes in a long, slow breath, savoring the smell of him that she has gone far too long without.

"You have me," she whispers against the skin just above the collar of his shirt. "Always, Steve."

She nearly melts at the feel of him running his fingers through her hair, tenderly and longingly as if needing to relearn the feel of it, and looks up to see a faint smile drifting across his lips. God, she missed that grin so damn much.

"So are you gonna run away with me, Romanoff?" he asks and brushes the softest ghost of a kiss across the top of her forehead.

Natasha finally smiles back.

"Yeah, Steve. I'm going to run away with you."

 

 

 

 


	2. You Are The Only Thing I Think About At Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some mild smut in this chapter, but still PG-13. Nothing explicit.

You Are The Only Thing I Think About At Night

Punching bags had been Steve's choice of therapy for a very long time. It started when he was 12, browsing the streets of Brooklyn looking for a job he could do for a few hours a day so he could help pay the bills without Ma worrying about him working too hard. There had been a boxing club a few blocks down from school that paid him a whole five cents a day to mop up the floors after closing time. Though he hurt his wrists more than learning any real way to fight, that scrappy little kid he used to be (and in a lot of ways, still was) fell in love with the feel of wrapped knuckles colliding with sand-filled leather. When the rest of the world was asleep and there was just too much on his mind to share even with Bucky, Steve could sneak down to the club and go a few rounds with the punching bags, though it left him sore and breathless, and the world would seem a little better as long as he kept pushing himself to do better. In that respect, at least, not much had changed. Tony had installed several punching bag options in Steve's room so he wouldn't have to go all the way down to the gym when he felt like hitting something. So there he was, wide awake at 3 in the morning, beating the absolute hell out of a punching bag in a desperate attempt to ease the aching tension spreading through his body.

It was day 73 of Natasha's solo mission in Kiev, and he missed her.

Desperately.

They tried not to put a label on the thing between them. They definitely weren't dating. People like them didn't date. But they certainly belonged to one another with an intimacy he thought he would never get to share after going under the ice. The foundation of their... relationship, if it could be called that, wasn't based on romance or even love; it was trust. First, last, and always. They could tell each other every last dark and dirty secret without fear of betrayal or judgement or vulnerability, fight against an entire army if they stood back to back, hold each other down when the nightmares became too much. It was so much more and yet somehow also less than a relationship ought to be, at least in his mind. Of course, that didn't mean the sex wasn't absolutely mind blowing too. Or that they weren't having a lot of it. A lot.   
Every part of him from tip to top, from head to heart, and absolutely everything in between missed Natasha. And he could either toss and turn in bed thinking about her, or punch out his problems. Still, it only kept his body busy, while nothing could stop his mind from wandering back to her no matter what...

" _You aren't going to break me," she whispered in his ear as he gently ran his lips over her neck. "I'm tougher than I look, soldier."_

_Steve pulled back slightly and propped himself up by his elbows so he could get another good look at her. She looked absolutely breathtaking reclined on his bed, her copper hair splayed out on the blue sheets like a halo illuminating her face. He'd spent countless hours thinking about this moment, about how to make it perfect for her. He wondered how long ago the last night was that a man well and truly took care of her pleasure instead of just his own. During their partnership in SHIELD, he saw firsthand (a little too firsthand, sometimes) how ridiculously skilled Natasha was at playing her targets like a fiddle, using some very specific tools in her arsenal to manipulate them left and right by any means. He knew, like Fury said, she was comfortable with everything, but it still made him furious every time another man even thought it was appropriate to use her like a toy. She deserved to be taken care of. To be respected. To be worshipped._

_"You don't have to be tough," he said back, running one finger over her cheek. "I want you to just relax."_

_Nat let out the tiniest bit of a gasp as he once again lowered his lips to her neck and slowly trailed them down her chest and over her abdomen. He smiled against her skin when he felt both her hands find a hold in his hair, and paused right at the top of her left thigh. She let out a groan of protest at his sudden lack of movement._

_"I want to spoil you, Natasha," he murmured just loudly enough for her to hear._

_He cast his eyes upward enough to see her glance down at him, her gaze rich with anticipation and longing. He watched her chest rise and fall a little heavier than before as her fingers twisted themselves tighter into his hair. Giving him one of the warmest grins he had ever seen on her authentically, she guided his head slightly to the right so that he was nestled in the exact place he wanted to be most. He relished the way she threw her head back into the pillows as he flicked his tongue._

Steve was so distracted he almost didn't notice extra creaking of the chain dangling above his head. It was only after he threw his last punch that he realized this bag was doomed and it went flying across the room. In what felt like only five years ago, he could barely even get a bag to swing when he hit it. If someone had told him then that he'd be capable of destroying them, he would have laughed that person out of New York. Tony had offered several times to design specially reenforced training gear capable of withstanding a super-soldier beating, but Steve turned him down. He needed to know when it was time to stop and breathe. Still panting, he sat back on his bed and started untying the boxing wraps twisted around his hand, trying to center himself amidst the pumping endorphins.

" _Talk to me."_

_The words weren't a concerned plea or a soft question, they were a demand. Natasha's feet were planted, shoulders squared, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed. Despite his extra height, weight, and strength, Steve wasn't sure all the force in the world could move her from his doorway. Still, he refused to look her directly in the eyes._

_"I know you're just trying to help, but please leave me alone," he insisted._

_She didn't budge._

_"I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me."_

_Steve knew he wasn't angry at her, but rage still boiled in the deepest pit of his stomach. He didn't want to talk to her, or anyone, about it. How could he? None of his teammates could know what it was like to be in his shoes, to walk around every day in a world that didn't belong to them. To see reminders that they didn't belong here. To never fully understand what people around them were saying or doing. To always feel behind no matter how much they tried to keep up. To have an entire lifetime stripped away with nothing but a mission and a duty and half a century worth of survivor's guilt strapped to their backs. Most days Steve could handle it, but the past week was just too much, and today was the anniversary of V-E Day. A day he had worked so hard for, but had missed nonetheless. Instead of the sorrow that had overtaken him in years past, all he felt now was congested anger. At himself. At everyone around him. At the whole damn universe._

_When he didn't say anything, Natasha put both hands on his chest and gave him a firm shove so she had enough space to step into his room and slam the door behind her. Before he could protest, she suddenly leapt into his arms like a predator pouncing its prey and slammed her lips to his with a force he didn't know a kiss could have. While he struggled to recover from the surprise of it all, she was already unbuckling his belt and ripping open the buttons on his shirt. He grabbed her wrists to stop her, but she expertly slipped out of his grip and resumed her work, not for a moment dropping her relentless mouth from his own. Steve didn't even notice until his back hit the wall that she had been subtly guiding them deeper into his apartment. Once she had him fully pressed against the wall and half way disrobed, she finally pulled away enough for him to catch his breath._

_"You're going to talk to me, or you're going to fuck me," she ordered like a field officer._

_Steve felt a knot form in his throat._

_"Natasha, I don't-"_

_"No," she interrupted harshly, forcefully yanking back on the hair at the top of his head. "You've been bottling this up for years and I'm not letting you get away with that anymore. So either talk to me, or fuck me until whatever is eating you up inside is out of your system."_

_He wanted to talk to her. He wanted so desperately to buy her a six pack of her favorite beer, sit down with her on his couch, and just spill every last secret, regret, fear, and insecurity that had been accumulating since crashing that damn plane. He wanted to tell her every last detail and vent and vent and vent for hours until there wasn't a thing left to say. He knew she would be a great listener and come to understand it all. But he couldn't. Something inside him just wouldn't let him. So instead he grabbed the hem of her dress and peeled it off of her in one single motion. The garment barely had time to fall to the floor before he grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around so she was taking his place against the wall. Natasha snapped into action immediately, wrapping both her legs around his waist, rolling her hips downward until they could both feel him respond. Christ, she felt amazing. On any other day, in any other mood, he would have carried her over to the bed and taken the time to adore every inch of her body. But those weren't his orders... and that's not what he wanted right now._

_Instead he moved in rough, hard motions, knocking Natasha's head back against the paneling on the wall as she let out a much louder than usual moan. The voice of reason in the back of his head screamed at him to stop, to be gentle and kind, but it was drowned out by the obscenity of Nat's lascivious gasps._

_"That's right," she gasped as she struggled for breath, digging her heels into his back. "Just let go. Let go, Steve."_

_Something about her words unlocked a floodgate deep in his brain that he didn't know was there. His hips moved faster and harsher and stronger until Natasha was screaming his name and he was gasping and moaning and grunting and sobbing all at once. His vision flashed back and forth between Natasha's face, contorted with a combination of pain and pleasure, eyes watering and lips trembling, and images of things he knew he'd never see again. Brooklyn as it should have been. His mother laughing. Bucky beating the hell out of a bully. The flashing lights of cameras in front of a stage in Chicago. Peggy's velvet smile. The Howling Commandos. Red Skull. Gunfire. Grenades. Tanks. Gas. Ice. Ice. Ice. Instead of the release that usually came with finishing, Steve instead felt a shatter. Every bit of strength and resistance he had left broke into a hundred pieces and he slumped to his knees, still holding Natasha tight to his chest. Though she was still panting heavily and shaking all over, Nat leaned Steve's face into her neck and lightly stroked the back of his neck. He let her hold him that way for hours while he cried._

Steve shook his head and forced himself to trudge into the bathroom, shedding his sweaty clothes as he went. The showers Tony put in everyone's apartments in the Avengers Facility were ridiculously more complicated than they needed to be. Hell, he'd been in tanks and planes that were easier to figure out than these damn things. There were separate settings for temperature, pressure, water patterns, different heads, and music for God's sake. Though he wasn't nearly as technologically illiterate as everyone liked to believe, Steve tended to just push a few buttons at random and hope for the best, especially when he was this tired. A random shower was better than giving Tony the satisfaction of hearing him ask JARVIS for help. Thankfully, he managed to get a halfway decent one going and just stood in the spray for a while, not bothering to use any soap just yet. He tried to focus only on the pulsing of the lukewarm water working the knots from his muscles and the exhausted thoughts of Natasha from his mind. It didn't work.

_The anticipation was killing him. He hadn't done anything like this since the 1930's, and even then it couldn't be compared. Cooking soup for Bucky when he was too sick with the flu to get out of bed was one thing. Putting together a romantic dinner and wrapping gifts to perfection for Natasha's birthday was another beast entirely. He spent all morning scrubbing the apartment high and low until it was immaculate, all afternoon shopping for the right ingredients and presents, and now all night following recipes from a cookbook leant to him by Clint. He dimmed the lights and lit the candles in the center of the table that was set to the standards of officer etiquette. Everything had to be perfect. God, he hoped Tony hadn't given him the wrong bottle of wine (not that Tony owned a bottle of wine that wasn't blessed by a world-class sommelier...). He gingerly plated the meal with military hyper-vigilance and waited by the door until he heard Natasha's key turn in the lock. She didn't make even the slightest sound to indicate her surprise, most likely out of instinct, but he could tell by the gleam in her eyes that he had surpassed even her wildest expectations._

_"Happy birthday," was all he said, easing her coat from her shoulders and she afforded herself the luxury of a few moments to take it all in._

_"Steve," she breathed. "You didn't have to."_

_"I know," he replied and kissed her on the cheek. "But I wanted to."_

_They took their time with dinner, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere and just drinking up the freedom of spare time. Or, at least, that seemed to be the case with Natasha as she laughed and conversed with ease. Steve, however, though engaged in her company, tapped his toe nervously. 'Phase one' had gone off without a hitch, but 'phase two' still hung in the balance. He waited until her plate was clean and her glass was empty before pulling the box wrapped in immaculate purple paper and a shimmering silver bow out from under his chair. Natasha smiled and flashed him a grin of feigned suspicion._

_"Not going soft on me, are you, Rogers?" she asked with no small amount of snark._

_He rolled his eyes._

_"Just open it."_

_Steve watched her face intently as she pulled the bow undone, ripped through the paper, and lifted the lid of the white box that laid underneath the concealment. The shock he saw creep across her face went far beyond what he saw at the beginning of the night. First shock, then small laughter, then a sly coyness, and finally... affection._

_"Just my size and color," she said huskily. "But I should probably try them on just to be sure. Care to join me?"_

_He sent out a silent prayer of thanks to the shop girl at Victoria's Secret for steering him in the right direction as he nearly leapt out of his chair to follow Nat into his bedroom. Their bedroom._

Steve let out a loud groan and put his hands against the wall of the shower to steady himself. For Christ's sake, Rogers, pull yourself together. She's not dead, she's just working. It's only been two and half months... The affirmation that was supposed to give him a kick of motivation only seeped further into his longing. Two and a half months without seeing Natasha's smile, without smelling her hair, without touching her skin, without feeling her lips, without hearing her laugh. And the memories flying through his head weren't helping either. He was worse than a lovesick teenager, both in his mind and his body. Of course he had tried taking care of things himself, but somehow that only made it worse; just made him miss her even more. He'd punched out his bag and soaked himself until his skin wrinkled... there was nothing else to do but try to finally get some sleep.

Drying off and slipping into bed, Steve picked up the burner phone that sat on his nightstand. Natasha got him a new one every time she went on a mission, with strict instructions for him to always keep it in his room and always keep the ringer on. He hated texting, and he hated putting her at risk even more (what if she forgot to turn it off on the mission? What if someone raided her things? What if, what if, what if?),but tonight he took the chance.

_You're the only thing I think about at night. I miss you._

Just as he was finally drifting off, Steve heard a soft ding and opened the phone to read Natasha's reply.

_I miss you too. I love you. Sleep well._

 

 

 


	3. Wearing Your Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-Age of Ultron friendship fluff.

Rain didn’t bother Natasha. Braving the elements had been an important part of her training both in the Red Room and at SHIELD. She knew how to use storms of all kinds as cover; blend into the snow for camouflage, time gunshots to line up with thunder, take advantage of mass panic in the midst of crisis weather. It would take a lot more than a small thunderstorm in New York to get under her skin… but that didn’t mean she was pleased with herself for not carrying an umbrella when the sky tore open before she and Steve could run for cover. So now she was soaked from head to toe, hair plastered to the sides of her face, shoes sloshing from the puddles she eventually gave up on trying to step over instead of through, as they finally reached the door of Steve’s apartment. She should have known better. It had been cloudy all day and Mother Nature is never on your side once you say the words it’s only a ten minute walk to the Thai restaurant, we’ll be fine.

“At least I saved the noodles,” Steve said jokingly as he dropped the drenched jacket that had been sacrificed to cover their food right onto the kitchen floor.

Natasha let herself smile through the chill that hit her as the last dry piece of her shirt soaked up the water from her hair. She missed Steve’s sense of humor. In fact, she missed everything about him since he moved out of the Avengers facility and into his own place. He still showed up to train with them a few times a week, but it just wasn’t the same as when the team was all living together in Stark Tower, and now without SHIELD to send them on missions together, their time together was cut down substantially. Still, they made their own time the best they could, even if it was only meeting up for lunch when schedules allowed. It wasn’t frequent, but it was something. After everything they had been through together, they couldn’t just let their friendship fall apart because of something as trivial as saving the world.

“America thanks you for your heroic service,” she replied with some warm sarcasm, also shedding her mess of a sweater and more than uncomfortable boots and socks until she was only in her damp jeans and camisole.

Steve placed their food on the counter and turned to face her, no doubt to make an equally sardonic comment, but instead eyed her from top to bottom and shook his head.

“I’ve got plenty of dry clothes you can wear, Nat. You’re not sitting through dinner in those.”

Natasha cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

“And who said chivalry is dead?”

Steve rolled his eyes playfully before disappearing into his bedroom to find her something to wear. Natasha let her eyes wander, not enough to snoop but enough to get a sense of what life must have been like here for Steve, all alone. The place was impeccably neat, to the point where she had no idea where he found the time to keep it so clean. The only mess to be found were stacks of books flush with sticky-notes sandwiched between pages and DVD cases with library codes taped to the back. Of course he still used the library instead of illegally downloading from the internet. She felt a twinge in her heart as she thought back to the few times they had gotten together as a team to watch classics in Tony’s massive home theater. It didn’t happen often (“we’re superheroes for Christ’s sake, not college students on a retreat,” Clint had said once), but there was something wholesome about being with Steve as he saw something new for the first time. The thought of him navigating the world by himself was just… sad.

“They’ll be too big for you, but it’s better than nothing,” Steve said, interrupting her thoughts, as he reemerged in fresh clothes of his own. He threw her a pair of drawstring sweatpants and a Stark Industries hoodie that must have been at least three sizes too large, but looked far more comfortable than her heavy jeans.

Natasha pulled the hoodie on over her head, working her wet clothes off under the modesty of it’s extra length. Still, though she showed no extra skin and he had seen her get changed on missions before, Steve turned his back and began setting the table. He wasn’t as innocent and naive as everyone liked to believe, but he was still a gentleman even after all this time. She couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the first time he saw her naked when they were on a stealth mission in Germany, stuck in a tiny hotel room in the outskirts of Dusseldorf. They had limited space and time to mobilize, but his cheeks still turned a cherry shade of red when she stripped out of her pajamas and into her combat suit.

What’s the matter, Rogers, afraid of a little skin?

Very funny, Romanoff, just give me some warning next time.

She was thankful that the dining room was small enough that he could only fit a singular round table. It was the right size that no matter where she sat, she was close enough to lean over and touch him. Not that she needed to, but Natasha liked the proximity. It wasn’t often that she found people in her life she could trust completely. She had Clint, Maria, Nick, and now Steve. As they settled into their seats, it started to hit her more and more… just how much she needed him in her life. Just how much she missed him.

They had just started eating when she suddenly stated, “You should move back to the Avengers facility.”

He stopped mid-chew and quickly swallowed his mouthful of Pad Thai.

“Why?” he asked, but not harshly.

Nat rolled her shoulders nonchalantly, pretending none of this was emotionally charged.

“It’d be better for productivity and team morale. Now that Tony has officially put you in charge, it only makes sense that you should be readily accessible.”

Steve shrugged.

“I like the quiet here. Things get… chaotic around the facility. But it would make training easier, and I’d be closer to you.”

Natasha let herself smirk, and her memory wandered back to their conversation at Sam’s house after they first took off on the run from HYDRA. He trusted her just as much as she trusted him, if not more so. They were friends. Friends. Just friends… She quickly tried to shift the gears in her head. Change the subject.

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” she said with an over-the-top amount of seriousness. “But you’re never getting this hoodie back. It’s too soft for me to give up.”

She could tell he wanted to laugh, but instead Steve played along, only giving her a look of feigned inquisition.

“So what you’re telling me is that I’m going to have to steal it if I want it back?”

Without even having to leave his seat, he reached one of his long arms across the table and gently tugged at the neckline. He didn’t pull hard enough to have any sort of real impact, but Nat seized the opportunity to lean forward as if he had pulled her in. She perched on her elbows just high enough to avoid drenching her new favorite jacket in curry sauce, but far enough in to breach the bubble of his personal space. Steve gulped, obviously unprepared for her sudden flirtatiousness.

“Go ahead. Steal it back,” she challenged, biting her lower lip seductively.

But just as quickly as the game had begun, it was over. Steve quickly let go and cleared his throat before returning to his food as if nothing had happened. A pang of hurt nipped at Natasha as she sank back into her seat to do the same. She liked teasing him, playing around. There was nothing serious to it, and yet his sudden look of discomfort made her want to pull the hood over her head and hide her face. It only reinforced just how much things had changed since he moved out of the facility.

“I’m sorry,” she said just above a whisper.

Natasha watched his face intently as he looked up at her and let out a small, exhausted sigh.

“No, don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong. I guess… I guess I’ve been living in the past a little more than usual and the idea of getting close to anyone -to you- took me by surprise.”

This time, there was no playfulness in her as Natasha took his hand in her own, running her thumb over his knuckles, feeling the tension in his fist and lightly kneading it away.

“Come back to the facility, Steve. We need you, and you need us.”

The pensive look on his face gave way to an entertained smile.

“Or what? You’ll hold my favorite hoodie hostage.”

Natasha smirked.

“Exactly.”

 

  
. 


	4. Take My Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HYDRA!Cap AU. This was intentionally written to be ambiguous, so you can decide how it ends.

 

Natasha hadn't prayed in a very long time. She didn't believe in God. Her father didn't care for dogma and her mother only went to the synagogue on special occasions before they died, and once she was "adopted" into the Red Room program religion was forbidden completely. Amidst everything she had seen and done, there was just too much and not enough left for her to really hold any faith. But silent prayer was an act of rebellion, an untraceable way of fighting back against her handlers. She prayed to a power she didn't believe in because they told her not to. Like wishing on a star. After leaving Russia to defect to SHIELD with Clint, she'd nearly forgotten about her dirty little heretical secret... but for the first time since her youth, she felt compelled to pray one more time. To a divine man in the sky she knew didn't exist. To gods long left behind by the religions of the world. To celestial bodies once looked to for wisdom. To anyone out there who might be listening. To nothing.

 _Please_ , she whispered without opening her mouth or moving her lips. _Please, please, just let him go. Let me help him. Don't let us die like this._

Just like every time before, no one answered. She sighed and finished recharging her bites and batons. Tony's heavy breathing alerted her of his arrival before anything else. He was just as anxious as she was, if not more so.

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Romanoff?" he asked sincerely, soberly, without even the slightest hint of his typical snark.

Natasha turned to face him, looking deep into his troubled eyes. He was already suited up and ready to fly out at a moment's notice. The two of them had a rocky history, what with all the lying and the deception, but they always had one thing in common no matter what: love for Steve Rogers. And that was enough for today.

"No," she answered honestly. "But that doesn't really matter."

He nodded. Even through the suit she could see the heavy sag in his shoulders. It had been there for months now, since they day they first turned on the television to see the news report of a bombed hospital and the man their world once knew at Captain America walking shamelessly out of the rubble with the HYDRA symbol painted on his shield. None of it made sense. They had just seen him the day before, as normal and sweet and kind as ever. Natasha had woken up in his arms just like she did every morning. He's surprised her by turning off her alarm before she woke up and leaving the smell of coffee and fresh made French toast to awaken her instead. He went to the gym with Tony, working them both into exhaustion before heading back to the Avengers facility to train the rest of the team as well. He and Sam took Wanda out to lunch that afternoon. Before dinner, he texted Nat that he would be home late, but the next morning he was gone... and a day later he was the most wanted terrorist in the United States. A week after that, he'd been recorded shooting up an embassy in Thailand. And the week after that, he crashed a jet into a school in Istanbul. The attacks didn't stop. They were randomized, senseless, with no obvious motivation or MO but violence and chaos. HYDRA was sending a message. Look at your golden boy now. None of the Avengers had been able to contact him since.

But now there was hope, if hope was the right word. After countless sleepless nights of chasing cold trails, Maria found a tip on what might -might- be the next strike. So now they were loading the quinjet for a flight to the United Nations Office in Nairobi, with all the hope in the world that they could get there before Steve. It was just herself and Tony; the rest of the team was on standby in Wakanda. They didn't want to risk a show of force, jeopardizing a chance to just talk to him... even if they all knew that was a long shot to say the least.

Natasha finished assembling her weapons and took a seat in the co-pilot's chair next to Tony as they took off for Kenya, thankfully the capital only a short fight from T'Challa's palace. Fear and guilt ate at her stomach just as they had for the past several months. How did the man she loved, the man who gave his life fighting the forces of HYDRA to save innocent lives, turn over night? What happened that she couldn't see it coming? What if this was their only chance to reach out to him and she failed? What if he was already too far gone? The thoughts kept banging around in her head as they landed in cloaking mode on a helicopter pad a few blocks from the UN building.

"Stay here," she told Tony, though his scowl showed he obviously didn't like taking orders. "I'll do a perimeter sweep and see if I can find him. If I don't I'll come back. If a do and can't handle him on my own, I'll send a distress signal."

She expected him to make some sarcastic remark, but he instead stayed silent and nodded at her. He knew she was taking this harder than anyone else. They all trusted him, they all loved him, but she shared her heart, her home, her bed, her life with Steve. If anyone deserved this chance, it was her. Nat quickly threw a long wrap dress on over her suit and a scarf over her hair before exiting the quinjet and shuffling herself into the streets, hugging buildings and blending into the crowds of tourists and politicians and activists as best she. It only took a matter of moments before she saw him, standing in street clothes, eyes covered with sunglasses and a baseball cap, but nonetheless in the plain sight where anyone who might be looking could find. He had made this easy for her on purpose. He wasn't hiding.

"Steve?" she said hesitantly, coming up from behind with enough space to alert him without any chance of spooking him.

He turned and a genuine smile suddenly grew across his face. Before Natasha had a chance to truly register what was happening, he swept her up into his arms and planted a quick but soft kiss on her lips.

"Nat, I'm so glad to see you," he whispered as lovingly as ever. "I've been so worried about you.

She very carefully placed one of her hands on the side of his face. His skin felt a little colder than usual, but other than that, nothing looked amiss. He didn't flinch at her touch.

"You need to tell me what's going on," she urged, hyperaware that Tony and Maria probably had hundreds of eyes on them by now.

The smile on his face grew even larger and Natasha felt a shiver run down her spine. That was all she really needed.

"So many wonderful things I can't wait to share with you," he answered with far too much joy in his voice.

Before she had a chance to ask him what he meant, the entire world went white and silent except for a ringing in her ears. A bomb. Steve, or someone else on HYDRA's crew, detonated a bomb while she was distracted. She was unsure how close they were to the blast, but her vision and hearing were non-existant, her body feeling light and motionless as if she were adrift in a luxury pool. She couldn't see or hear or feel anything. She opened her mouth and tried to scream, feeling her vocal chords shake but having no other frame of reference. Was she injured? Was she drugged? What she dead? There was no true way to know for sure. She silently screamed and screamed and screamed until there was nothing left and that too felt into the void. The white emptiness finally faded into a black void that seemed like sleep, and the next thing she felt was the ring of Steve's voice in her ears.

"Take my hand, Natasha. Please."

There was no way to know if she was opening her eyes or if he vision was only just coming back to her after the blast, but the world slowly came back into focus. She was lying on her back, staring straight up at a grey ceiling with only a single, dim lightbulb to illuminate the room. Four concrete walls and a steel door enclosed them, but what mattered most was Steve. He was standing over her, one hand outstretched toward her. He wasn't wearing the street clothes she'd seen him in earlier, nor his star-spangled uniform, or even the navy blue stealth suit she had grown fond of. Instead he wore a perverted version of his usual gear, all black with the red tentacles and skull of HYDRA emblazoned on the chest; a mockery of the symbol he had once been for America, and the Avengers, and the world. But that wasn't the truly terrifying part. What scared her most was the bright glowing blue seeping and ebbing in his eyes... just like she had seen in Clint's a few years ago.

"How did HYDRA get the scepter?" she demanded as strongly as she could with her throat feeling like sandpaper and her tongue like cotton.

"That doesn't matter," Steve crooned sweetly. "I've seen their future and it's everything we ever wanted, Nat. You can help me make it free and safe, you just have to take my hand."

Natasha's skin began to crawl. The voice was his but the words were so familiarly far from his own. It disgusted her to her very core, seeing the man she loved corrupted and twisted, but at least now she knew he could be saved. She knew she could save him. She forced herself to put on a face that was equal parts innocence and fear.

"Are you sure, Steve? Is this really what you want? More than anything?"

"What I want more than anything is for you to be by my side," he answered, reaching further down.

"Take my hand," he repeated again.

She took a deep breath. She could do this. She could play her cards right and get them both out alive. This was the moment she had prayed for... maybe someone had finally listened. Swallowing hard, giving him her greatest face of need and love, Natasha accepted Steve's outstretched hand and let him pull her to her feet.

"I knew you'd understand," he murmured, and brought his other hand to caress her cheek. "I told them you'd do anything for me."

He leaned in to kiss her and Natasha parted her lips to meet him, but instead, faster than she could even lift a finger to stop him, he brought the hand on her cheek down to her throat and squeezed.

Hard.

 

 


	5. The World Moves On, But We're Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEAVY STUFF HERE GUYS! Very intense references to suicide and some vivid discussions of suicidal tendencies. If this is a triggering subject for you, please do not read.

 

Two months.

Two goddamned months that crept by slower than Natasha ever thought time could move. Every single day felt like a year all its own, dragging by at a hellishly glacial pace. Falling asleep was a struggle, but so was waking up. Sometimes she went 48 hours without even sitting down, sometimes she went 48 hours without leaving bed. She forgot the last time her food actually had taste, or a hot shower was able to sooth the tensions under her skin. They should have been spending those two months devising a plan, working on something, anything, to bring hope back to the planet, but there just wasn't enough left. This was more grief than any of them had ever known... and they were completely broken. All of them.

The only small solace was that Queen Shuri had granted whoever remained visas to stay in Wakanda for the foreseeable future. Not that documents or pieces of paper mattered anymore. The few original tribal leaders who remained had gone home to mourn their dead; no one had the energy to argue with the new ruler against the asylum of a few battered Avengers. Battered wasn't really the right word, though. Rather... shattered. The agony was still fresh and their hearts were still too raw to be in tact enough to be battered. That would require having salvaged enough pieces to take a beating. The entire world was still in shock.

Natasha rose from her bed and left her room without bothering to change out of the pajamas Nakia had gifted her. If the two women had met under any other circumstances, there was no doubt they could have been friends. Two spies bonded over fighting their hardest for what they believed was best, laws and men be damned. But there was no room for friendship, now. Nakia, who had been poised to marry the man she loved and become an amazing queen in her own right, had all but disappeared a few weeks ago, and even if she was still around Natasha was too numb to give any sort of comfort. She now wandered aimlessly down the empty corridors of the residence palace, taking twists and turns without a destination in mind. Most of the rooms in the living wing were soundproof, but every so often she could hear sobs or wails coming from behind closed doors. She didn't keep track of how long she walked, time had lost all its meaning at this point, but after a while decided it was time for a drink. She guessed the remaining existence of alcohol was some small solace too.

The kitchens were the only place that seemed to keep turning as if nothing had changed. Of course, the staff members were fewer than before and those still around were obviously struggling to cope, but the living still had to eat. Construction may have come to a halt, hundreds of businesses may have closed down either because of lack of employees or a surrender to loss, but food was still a necessity. No one argued when Natasha trudged barefoot into a pantry and grabbed the nearest, fullest bottle of unmarked liquor she could find. There was a chance no one even noticed her. Against the dark, reserved beauty of the other people staying and working in the palace, she looked like nothing but a pale, despondent ghost. She felt like a ghost. This was a living purgatory and she was trapped here. Pulling the cork out of the newly acquired bottle with her teeth and taking a quick gulp, Natasha found the nearest staircase and kept climbing until there was nowhere further to go than the roof. She wasn't surprised that the rooftop was already occupied, and she wasn't surprised to see Steve Rogers standing on the edge, his eyes cast out over the city as the rising sun cast dim rays on his face.

"Are you going to jump?" she asked without greeting, taking a seat on the ledge next to him.

He didn't flinch.

"Maybe. I haven't decided yet," he deadpanned without taking his eyes of the horizon.

Natasha took another long drink of her mystery alcohol.

"Do you want me to push you? I can do it when you're not paying attention."

Steve didn't reply at all this time. Neither of them were joking. It wouldn't be the first time in these past few weeks that the local authorities woke up to find a mangled body splattered on the sidewalk next to a skyscraper. At least power-washing the street was easier than scrubbing brain matter off a wall after someone blew their brains out, or cutting down a swinging corpse that had been reeking for several days. A few reports of those had come in too. At this point, Natasha couldn't blame any of them, not even Steve if he chose to take two steps forward right in front of her. Hell, she'd tried to drink herself into a coma twice already. If ever there was a time when living...no, surviving, was just too much, it was now. God knows plenty of recruits in the Red Room had been driven over the edge by things they had to do. The concept was not something unfamiliar to her, nor to Steve. No one talked about it, but she knew from the minute she saw him in the ice that he had already killed himself once. A plane crash victim didn't lay down behind the pilot's chair and close his eyes. The body they recovered was the body of a man ready for death. After a few long breaths of silence, he finally sighed and sat down, his legs still dangling over the edge.

"I don't know if I can do this, Nat," he said dejectedly without looking her in the eyes. "Any of this."

"Neither do any of us," she replied. "This earth is going to spin on whether we're on it or not, so what's the point if we've got nothing to live for?"

Steve shook his head and let out a voided chuckle.

"You know, my mother was Catholic. She always said it was the one thing she brought from Ireland that she couldn't give up, that it was a part of her soul and her home. One day when I was seven, we heard a gunshot next door and it turns out our neighbor decided to eat his own gun. That's when Ma explained to me that taking any life, even your own, is a mortal sin. 'The world moves on, but we're forever,' she told me. 'Struggle and pain is part of this world, and you can't let it bring you down. Your soul is forever, Steven, don't you ever forget it.'"

Natasha cocked an eyebrow.

"The world moves on, but we're forever, huh?" she repeated, rolling the words around in her mouth. "Sounds like the damn truth to me."

The last 60 days certainly felt like forever. An eternity without Sam's jokes, without Wanda's passion, without Tony's snark, without T'Challa's grace, without Vision's insight, without Bucky's gaze. It almost made Natasha wonder if she and the rest of the "survivors" had died at the hands of Thanos and living with the illusion of their loved ones dead was the eternal punishment. If so, it was certainly doing its job. Natasha and Steve sat together on the rooftop, wordlessly watching the sun climb higher into the sky until all of Wakanda must have been illuminated. It felt unfair, that the sun was still shining like usual, with no care for what had happened, and the wisdom from Mrs. Rogers really sank in her stomach. The world does move on, even if people don't.

"What are you living for, Natasha?" Steve finally asked, breaking the oppressive silence.

She shrugged nonchalantly.

"I don't know. Alcoholism, maybe? The chance that Thanos will come back and I can watch Thor kill him this time?" She paused. "You?"

For the first time since she'd arrived on the rooftop, Steve turned to look her straight in the eyes. His face was mostly empty of emotion, but there was a little something tugging softly under his skin. Potentially relief, potentially curiosity, potentially just more sadness.

"Don't do that," he said soberly.

This time it was her turn to laugh humorlessly.

"You don't get to give me orders anymore, Cap."

He narrowed his gaze.

"Natasha, I'm serious. Don't."

It only took a few gulps to finish the rest of her drink. Once the bottle was empty, she threw it against the side of the wall with a sharp crash as the glass exploded against the brick. Normally, it would feel wrong to spoil even the most unattended corner of T'Challa's -no- Shuri's palace, but she needed to hear the impact. For the first time since Thanos disappeared back into that portal, Natasha felt something other than grief or numbness. She wasn't sure what it really was, but the closest thing she could put a name to was rage. Rage at the Titan, at Steve, at herself, at everything. But it was also more than that. Along with the fury, woven into the very fabric of it, was loneliness and longing; a manifestation of the gaping hole in her heart that had nothing to fill itself but dust and ash. It was suddenly all boiling up and if she didn't let it out she thought she was going to come apart just like that bottle. The only one there for her to take it out on was Steve.

"I'm done too, Steve!" she yelled almost at the top of her lungs, backing away from the ledge and toward the center of the rooftop. "I'm done with all of this! What does it matter if I have something to live for or not?! This isn't living, this is just existing and I'm tired of it too! So what are you going to do about it, Rogers?"

Something must have snapped in him as well, because in less time than it took her to blink he was barely a step in front of her, both of his hands clamped down on her shoulders, silent tears streaming out of his eyes. For some reason she couldn't explain, she was suddenly afraid. She tried to take a step back, but he held her in place.

"I couldn't decide whether or not to jump because you found me, Nat," he rasped in a husky, choked voice, but with no less intensity or anger than her own. "I was finally about to just take that step but then you showed up and I couldn't do it. Don't think for a moment-"

Natasha couldn't take it anymore. She leapt up, wrapped her legs tightly around Steve's waist and crashed her lips to his. There was no love in her lips, no craving for affection, just need. An all-burning, all-consuming need for something different than the weight of the dead that had been dragging every single one of them down. She pulled on his hair, she ripped at his clothes, she dragged her nails across his shoulders and his back until she felt the skin break under them. And he was kissing her back, groaning under her relentlessly, moaning his desperation into her. It had been so long since she felt even remotely whole, even remotely human, and in this moment all she wanted to at least partially stitch her up was Steve. To let her give and take something, anything.

"What do you need?" he asked against her mouth as he pulled back just enough to catch the breath needed to put the words together.

"You," she answered, still running her hands all over him. "Fuck me. Hurt me. Love me. Kill me. I don't care, I just need you."

 _The world moves on, but we're forever._ The words rang loudly in her head as Steve tore away her shirt and bit at her neck. _The world moves on, but we're forever._ She yelped when one hand drew blood on her arm and the other ran between her legs. _The world moves on, but we're forever._ She could keep going if this was her forever... their forever. Nothing but pain, pleasure, and Steve Rogers in between. He pressed down harder, faster, and she screamed. Natasha screamed and screamed and screamed.

_The world moves on, but we're forever._


End file.
